Thy skilful hand contributes to our woe,
And whets thofe arrows which confound us fo
A thousand Cupids in thofe curls do fit,
(Those curious nets!) thy flender fingers knit :
The Graces put not more exactly on
Th' attire of Venus, when the Ball fhe won
Than Sachariffa by thy care is dreft,
When all our youth prefers her to the rest.
You the foft feafon know, when beft her mind
May be to pity or to love inclin’d:
In fome well-chofen hour fupply his fear,
Whofe hopeless love durst never tempt the ear
Of that stern Goddess: you, her priest, declare
What offerings may propitiate the Fair:
Rich orient pearl, bright stones that ne'er decay,
Or polish'd lines which longer last than they.
For if I thought she took delight in those,
To where the chearful morn does first disclofe
(The shady night removing with her beams)
Wing'd with bold love, I'd fly to fetch fuch gems.
But fince her eyes, her teeth, her lip excels
All that is found in mines, or fishes' fhells ;
Her nobler part as far exceeding these,
None but immortal gifts her mind fhould please.
The fhining jewels Greece and Troy bestow'd
On Sparta's Queen, her lovely neck did load,
And fnowy wrifts: but when the town was burn'd, Those fading glories were to afhes turn'd:
Her beauty too had perifh'd, and her fame,
Had not the Mufe redeem'd them from the flame.
AT PENS HURST.
HILE in the park I fing, the listening deer
Attend my paffion, and forget to fear:
When to the beeches I report my flame,
They bow their heads, as if they felt the fame :
To Gods appealing, when I reach their Bowers
With loud complaints, they answer me in showers.
To Thee a wild and cruel foul is given,
More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven!
Love's foe profess'd! why doft thou falsly feign
Thyself a Sidney? from which noble strain
*He fprung, that could fo far exalt the name
Of Love, and warm our nation with his flame;
That all we can of love or high defire,
Seems but the fmoke of amorous Sidney's fire.
Nor call her mother, who fo well does prove
One breast may hold both chastity and love.
Never can she, that so exceeds the spring
In joy and bounty, be fuppos'd to bring
One fo deftructive: to no human stock
We owe this fierce unkindness; but the rock
That cloven rock produc'd thee, by whose fide
Nature, to recompence the fatal pride
Of such stern beauty, plac'd thofe † healing fprings;
Which not more help, than that deftruction brings.
Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone,
I might, like Orpheus, with my numerous moan
Melt to compaffion: now, my traiterous fong
With thee confpires, to do the finger wrong:
While thus I fuffer not myself to lose
The memory of what augments my woes :
But with my own breath still foment the fire,
Which flames as high as fancy can aspire!
This last complaint th' indulgent ears did pierce
Of just Apollo, president of verse;
Highly concerned that the Muse should bring
Damage to one, whom he had taught to fing;
Thus he advis'd me: "On yon aged tree
"Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the fea;
"That there with wonders thy diverted mind
"Some truce at least may with this paffion find."
Ah cruel Nymph! from whom her humble fwain
Flies for relief unto the raging Main;
And from the winds and tempefts does expect
A milder fate, than from her cold neglect !
Yet there he'll pray, that the unkind may prove
Bleft in her choice; and vows this endless love
Springs from no hope of what she can confer,
But from thofe gifts which Heaven has heap'd on her.
To my young Lady LUCY SIDNEY.
WHY came I fo untimely forth
Into a world, which, wanting thee,
Could entertain us with no worth,
Or fhadow of felicity?
That time should me fo far remove
From that which I was born to love!
Yet, fairen bloffom! do not flight
That age which you may know fo foon : The rofy morn reigns her light,
And milder giory, to the noon : And then what wonders thail you do, Whofe dawning beauty warms us fo ?
Hope waits upon the flowery prime ;
And fummer, though it be lefs gay,
Yet is not look'd on as a time
Of declination, or decay:
For, with a full hand, that does bring
All that was promis'd by the spring.
AIR! that you may truly know
What you unto Thyriis awe;
I will tell you how I do
Sachariffa love, and You.
Joy falutes me, when I fet My bleft eyes on Amoret : But with wonder I am strook,
While I on the other look:
If sweet Amoret complains,
I have sense of all her pains :
But for Sachariffa I
Do not only grieve, but die.
All that of myself is mine,
Lovely Amoret! is thine,
Sacharifla's captive fain
Would untie his iron chain;
And, thofe fcorching beams to fhun,
To thy gentle shadow run.
If the foul had free election
To difpofe of her affection;
I would not thus long have borne
Haughty Sacharissa's scorn :
But 'tis fure fome Power above,
Which controls our wills in love!
If not a love, a strong defire
To create and spread that fire
In my breaft, follicits me,
Beauteous Amoret! for thee.
'Tis amazement more than love,
Which her radiant eyes do move :
If lefs fplendor wait on thine,
Yet they fo benignly shine,
I would turn my dazzled fight
To behold their milder light.
But as hard 'tis to destroy~
That high flame, as to enjoy:
Which how eas'ly I may do,
Heaven (as eas❜ly fcal'd) does know!
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